


The Oozing Elevator

by HunterPeverell



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-22 15:46:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12485136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HunterPeverell/pseuds/HunterPeverell
Summary: The day Steve entered the creaky old elevator, there was no way he could have known he’d never be seen again.





	The Oozing Elevator

The day Steve entered the creaky old elevator, there was no way he could have known he’d never be seen again.

That morning began the same as every morning. Steve woke up with his alarm, got out of bed, shoveled some cereal down his throat while looking out the window. He took in the streaming sunlight, the people going about their business, the drifting of the lethargic clouds, and he’d felt his sleep-ridden mind begin to wake up.

After that, he gathered up his supplies in his messanger bag, swung it over his shoulder, checked to make sure he had his keys, and headed out.

Of course, being Steve, he’d had to turn around again at the top of the stairs to grab his inhaler. And then walk back up a flight to snag his glasses. Still, he got out of his apartment in good time and made the trek to his studio a few blocks away.

The sun felt good on his shoulders, which were far too tense from his usual awkward posture. Steve made an effort to relax them, though he wasn’t sure if he was actually relaxed or not. Relaxing was painful sometimes—the muscles were so used to being scrunched up, they forgot that being loose could feel nice, too.

So focused on this feeling, Steve didn’t see the cloud of noxious smoke in time to swerve around it.

“Can’t stand it, huh?” one of the teens laughed as Steve hacked violently. His friend joined in, sucking in a deep draw from his cigarette and blowing it into Steve’s face.

Steve’s eyes watered, and he coughed and spluttered, hurrying away from the two guys.

“Hey now!” one of them shouted from behind him, speaking around his snickering. “It’s just a little smoke!”

Steve shakily drew out his inhaler and puffed it, the balm of chemicals sliding down his throat soothing his aching throat.

“Aw, shit,” he heard one of the teens mumble, and Steve heard them hurry off.

By the time he opened the door of the building where his studio was, Steve was wheezing something awful. Each breath dragged over his teeth and across to his throat slowly, painfully, as if the oxygen was trying to slow its descent down his throat by digging its fingernails into the walls of his esophagus.

He eyed the staircase for a moment, weighing the desire to walk up the three floors to his studio versus the pain emanating from his lungs.

After a particularly painful inhale, Steve made his way to the old elevators that hardly anyone used and pressed the up button.

As he waited for the doors to open, Steve focused on his breathing. _In through the nose, out through the mouth,_ he remembered one doctor telling him.

Just as he got something resembling a rhythm down, the doors creaked open. Steve stumbled inside and pressed the cracked _3_.

While the doors creaked shut once more, Steve returned his focus to his breathing.

He didn’t mind the groaning as the elevator began trundling upwards—it was an old elevator, it made disturbing noises—but he did notice when it went silent.

Steve opened his eyes to see darkness.

It oozed from the walls of the elevator, sliding down the metal and pooling at his feet. It surrounded him, curling around his neck, his chest, his limbs.

Steve staggered back, eyes wide, but it was everywhere, and no matter which way he looked, the blackness lay thick across his vision. No matter where he went, he only sank deeper into its hold.

His breathing came quick and whistled through his throat, singing his demise. He was growing faint. The blackness had leaked into his retinas, blotting out the blackness until there was nothing…

“Calm down,” a voice said, sure and steady.

Steve tried to scream, but he couldn’t hear his own voice over the rushing in his ears, a rushing of silence so overwhelming there was nothing else, nothing in the world and—

“I said calm down.” The voice, which had been in front of him, now sounded directly into his ear, as if the speaker was standing just behind Steve.

Steve whirled around, but couldn’t see anyone for a long moment, swimming too deeply in the engulfing blackness.

Then, just as Steve felt he was about to faint, he saw a man.

Waves of dull, lanky brown hair splattered onto his shoulders. Deep-set brown eyes stared at Steve lifelessly. He wore black pants and a plant tank top, which showed off his arms—or, rather, _arm_ as the other one seemed to be made of a dark metal.

“W-who are you?” Steve croaked once he found his voice.

The man frowned. “Why did you get in the elevator?”

“I-I c-couldn’t breathe.” As if to demonstrate, Steve’s breathing pittered out again and he felt desperately for his messanger bag and was relieved to find it still slung around her shoulders. He dug out his inhaler and sucked in a puff.

The man still frowned at him, but the frown had grown deeper. Steve could feel his fear leaving him, replaced by irritated anger.

“What?” Steve growled, pulling his inhaler away from his lips.

“Nothing,” the man replied.

“Where am I?” Steve demanded.

“I don’t know the name,” the man admitted. “I just know we have to get to the End.”

“The end?”

A nod. “This blackness means a newbie has appeared. The Red Skull picked someone else out for his amusement.” A wry, angered curl of the lips. “We have to get through forests and snow and cold until we find the lair and destroy it. Only then do we have a chance to escape.”

Steve perked up. “We can escape?”

“No one’s ever done it before?” the man warned.

“So?” Steve retorted. “How do I get out of here?”

“Just walk,” the man said, and Steve immediately walked into the blackness, hearing the footsteps of the man following him. The man called out,  “But you should know that even if you do escape, there’s no telling when you’ll end up.”

Steve turned around. “What?”

The man looked sad. “Time has no meaning here, so it could be anytime. Back in the Roman era. Seventy years in your future. Anything.”

"I'll take my chances," Steve snapped. "Better than listening to some stranger!"

“My name’s Bucky," the man—Bucky—said. “And before you go haring off screamin' about Stranger Danger, let me at least warn you about the Red Skull.”

Steve could see the glimmer of fear in Bucky’s eyes and knew that the man, the Red Skull, wasn’t pleasant.

Steve bit his lip, debating. He didn’t know Bucky, he didn’t know what was going on, but he did know that the place he was in was bigger than the elevator, colder, and the ground crunched beneath his feet.

Steve could take a leap and trust Bucky. He could see what would happen. There was something about Bucky that seemed trustworthy and Steve, with his asthma, his scoliosis, and his thin stature, probably won’t last long wherever he was now.

Steve took a deep breath.

“What do we do?” he asked, soft and clear.

He heard a small intake of breath, could feel Bucky’s eyes on his neck. Steve didn’t feel threatened, bolstering his courage.

“We play his game,” Bucky replied after a moment. “We play until we can find a way to escape.”

Steve turned and looked him dead in the eye. “I’m not gonna let some bully boss me around.”

Bucky looked at him with something akin to amused admiration. “That attitude’s gonna get you killed.”

Steve turned back around and kept walking. “Oh well.”

“‘Oh well?’” Bucky parroted back. “ _Oh well?_ ”

Steve shrugged. “Who’s gonna miss me back home?”

“That sounds like a lonely existence.”

There was a burr in Bucky’s voice, an ache that told Steve Bucky knew all too well the kind of life Steve had lived.

Steve’s heart—always too big, his mother often told him—went out to the man with the metal arm. The blackness was thinning into grey as they walked forward, and Steve slipped his hand into Bucky’s, squeezing gently, just to say _we’ll do this together._

“I’m with you,” Steve said. “Don’t worry, okay?”

There was a pause before he heard the quiet, “Okay.”

They kept walking forwards.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment or a kudos, please!
> 
> I know this isn't my best work ever, but I wanted to build something around the last few sentences.


End file.
